


sing for me, my meadowlark

by FaultyParagon



Series: Canon-Compliant/Canon-Rooted RWBY Fics [32]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Adopted Children, Angst, Crimes & Criminals, Domestic Fluff, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Heartache, Organized Crime, he was so much fun, i miss roman, more than that though i miss seeing him and neo, the unit they were meant to be, together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26588578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaultyParagon/pseuds/FaultyParagon
Summary: Roman Torchwick is confident that he will one day reign supreme. Being a father was never in those plans.He’s always been weak for ice cream, though; and if he can make his ward smile on top of that, then he shall do whatever it takes- even if it kills him.-aka Roman and Neo’s relationship from Neo's childhood till V3, explored through a series of vignettes.
Relationships: Neopolitan & Roman Torchwick
Series: Canon-Compliant/Canon-Rooted RWBY Fics [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815229
Comments: 47
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a fic idea that's been sitting on my phone forever. I need a break from FG, so I decided to finally map this fic out after a request from one of my fave readers <3

Footsteps pounding upon the pavement, wind screaming past his ears, rain splashing, slicing, stinging his eyes with such ferocity he wonders whether he will be blind at the end of it all-

None of this matters. After all, he is almost _free._

He ducks through low doorways, jumps through open windows, bolts up winding staircases halfway only to leap onto nearby rooftops as he bolts through Mistral’s lowest tier- the slums. The smile on his face does not portray the image of a man who is under chase, however. He is not being chased- _he_ is chasing his _liberty._ He is so close; all he has to do is evade the police for long enough. The moment he can slip out of Mistral, he shall be good to go. There is no fear in his heart to attract the Grimm once he leaves the capital city- how could he fear? His wallet is full of lien, his cane has been upgraded free of charge ( _Everything is free if you run fast enough, right_?) and he is limber and strong and ready to leave this life behind. No longer will he be a mutt, a tool for the dons of Mistral to use in their killing games. No longer will he be nothing but a toy for them to play with, only to throw away to find a new master when his utility and entertainment value run out.

He shall fight, and he shall survive, no matter what. He is _so close._

And then, Vale shall be his playground. His grin grows wild, feral, untamed at the mere thought of it, despite his exertion.

As he runs, arms pumping wildly by his sides as he sprints across screeching shingled rooftops and sinking clay huts, his mind almost begins to wander, begins to fantasize; in Vale, what would he find? Ever since he had seen photographs of the city, the twenty-year-old has known that this is where his future lies. There is no way that a city that domestic and clean could be without an underground network, but it is so unlike Mistral, based on the images he had spotted; to survive in a city like Vale, one wouldn’t need brawn or manpower. One would need wit and brains and cunning, and Roman is sick of wasting his true talents away in this rat-infested sewer dump which is the slums.

He hears the crack of a bullet hit a rooftop three buildings away. They chase him for his wallet, for money which is not his in name, but his in merit; he does not worry, though, smoothly finding a crack between two buildings and hopping within, biting down on his knuckle to hold back his haughty laughter when he hears the disgruntled yells and hollers of his would-be captors. He looks up, snorting silently as numerous bodies leap over the gap, completely unaware that their target has dropped down into ankle-deep collected rainwater and excrement below.

He doesn’t mind. He has lived in this all his life. The first thing he’ll do once he leaves town is buy some new clothes, but for now, the filth shall not interfere with his escape.

It is but a tiny movement which catches his eye, but catch him unawares, it does; in an instant, he points the target sight of his cane-turned-rifle at the creature lurking in the shadows, hidden underneath a mass of gritty, damp, clinging cloth.

He squints, then gasps. A pair of wide, horrified eyes look up at him from underneath the pile. They are tiny, innocent; ghostly, like they’ve seen hell- like they’ve lived it every day.

 _They’re a local, then,_ he thinks to himself, holding up a finger to his lips as he looks at the tiny person huddled by the damp terra cotta wall barely a foot away. “Stay quiet, and I’ll let you live,” he sings quietly.

Tears well up in those eyes, still too dark to see clearly; he silently presses the tip of his cane against their temple, cocking a bullet. “Uh-uh,” he calls playfully, waggling a finger. “No can do, kiddo- you can’t scream, okay?”

Silently, the figure nods.

He frowns, curiosity taking hold of him; on a whim, he uses the cane to lift up some of the cloth, flinging it off the hunched figure. Immediately, he recoils, regret and disgust pulling him back on instinct.

It is a child; a little girl, he thinks, based on the way those giant eyes stare up at him through bruised, puffy eyelids and shoulder-length, bedraggled, matted hair, the colour of which is absolutely unidentifiable underneath the muck and soot and grime clearly caked onto every strand. Purple and green and mottled blues stain arms far too thin to have deserved such punishment. She is young; she is tiny; she is beaten and broken and bruised and he does not know what to do.

She cannot be more than seven years old. _I’d give it a runty eight, maybe,_ he thinks, lips curled in disgust.

He can still hear the sounds of his pursuers echoing along the street; he cannot leave now, anyways. Crouching down in their little nook between these two packed buildings, he murmurs, “What’s your name?”

She does not respond, merely sniffling as she watches him, clutching her arms around a ribcage far too prominent to be healthy.

He sighs. “What happened to you?”

She shakes her head, lip quivering, threatening to allow tears to fall once again. He rolls his eyes- having a child cry out would blow his cover completely, but so would the sound of a bullet, so there was no point in killing her if he could avoid it-

Then, to his surprise, she sniffles and sucks back her tears, keeping her puffy eyelids locked upon him. She does not cower. She merely wants help; and yet, there is a fire in her eyes, a strength hidden somewhere underneath all that caked-on grime and decay. It is far too familiar.

He smiles, almost nostalgic about the suffering he knows they both must share if she is hiding away in an alley like this, ass-deep in the piss-filled rainwater collected by the slums of Mistral.

 _I should leave._ “I’m going to Vale.”

She does not seem to understand. He gets it; to a child, Vale must seem like a fairy tale, a myth, a game of make-believe. A place where one can always see the sky above them must seem like a farce to anyone who has never left the lower tiers of Mistral, after all.

He has never even seen it, either. He’s always been one for adventure, though.

 _This is crazy._ “Do you want to come with me?”

Doleful, bloodshot eyes look up at him through puffy lids, and for a moment, he struck by the colour, finally seeing those irises clearly in the flickering light coming in from a window above them- chocolate brown on one side, pale pink in the other iris, both glimmering with such thick, unshed tears that his heart seizes painfully in his chest.

He reaches out a hand, his mind finally catching up to the words which he has uttered so thoughtlessly. And yet, as he watches her reaction, her brain slowly calculating what to do, he realizes that he does not regret a thing; he does not regret asking this tiny child to join.

He cannot leave her here. He does not know why, but he cannot abandon her to die in the godforsaken streets of the Mistralian slums. He is getting out.

What better way to spit at this city which has threatened to break him all his life than by saving another from its clutches at the same time?

Her tiny palm fits perfectly within his, he realizes. She reeks of blood and pus and piss and vomit, but as he scoops her up and presses her against his chest, cane slapping against his thigh as he begins to run once again, he realizes that her tiny body fits in his arms perfectly, too. A puzzle piece that has finally found its interlocking half- she tucks her head into the crook of his neck, and all he can do is sigh and smile fondly as he bolts around another corner, the end in sight.

_What have I picked up?_

As she begins to weep in clear relief once they are amongst the trees at the border of Mistral, however, he knows that he has made the right decision.


	2. Chapter 2

This creature he has whisked away from the slums of Mistral is indeed a young girl, he realizes as he dries her off. The bathtub is filled with muck and grime and things he would rather not think about, but now, he can see that her hair matches her eyes; the girl’s shoulder-length locks split perfectly down the middle between pastel pink and warm, velvety brown.

He does not take a long time in the bath with her. The sores and split skin and welts are too painful to look at; on him, he wouldn’t care, for that is all he has ever known. When her eyes water at the abrasiveness of hotel soap, however, the guilt which coats his tongue is far too bitter to digest.

Eventually, however, they are dressed and ready to leave. They must look like an odd pair. He flips off anyone who dares glance at them as he takes her hand and tows her around this small, rural town; they only need to be here for a few days, after all. Then, the next airship headed to Sanus shall arrive, and he shall be off to accomplish his dreams in Vale.

At least she’s a light eater. His stash of lien shall last them quite a while.

There is still room to play, though. The ice cream is bought on a whim, since after dressing the two of them in more presentable clothing, he still has enough to afford the little treat; and, when he sees the sign in the window, he cannot help but take the child inside the store, ordering a cup for them to share.

Her eyes widen as she looks at the bowl he hands her, sticking one spoon into her mouth to hold as he pays for the dessert. “It’s Neapolitan,” he explains once they are set to go, pointing at each flavour. “Strawberry, vanilla, chocolate. It matches your hair.” He ruffles her bangs, sticking his tongue out when she withdraws a little. “Which one’s your favourite?”

The blank look she gives him is proof enough that she has no idea what those flavours even mean.

Sighing, he whisks her to a corner booth in the tiny store, settling her in across from him and placing the bowl between them. “It’s food. A treat. Eat.” She still seems uncertain, however, spoon sticking out of her mouth comically as she watches him with those large, confused eyes.

Pulling the spoon out from her mouth, he uses it to scoop up a little bit of chocolate ice cream. “Say ah,” he murmurs, opening his mouth to model the action. Shyly, she imitates him, allowing him to feed her a bit of the frozen treat.

Her eyes widen, then sparkle, and she stiffens in her seat, her hands tapping the tabletop in a frenzy. He chuckles, watching her excitement and wonderment and surprise before scooping out another flavour- vanilla. “Would you like to try another one?”

She nods, more vibrant and alive than he has ever seen her, and he finds that his heart is warm.

She eats, she bounces happily, she claps her hands and splutters a little when the ice catches up to her brain, causing her to pause, numb; he laughs, scooping up strawberry, ready to give her another taste. And when she accepts it, she almost begins to cry, so overwhelmed by it all that he cannot help but laugh aloud and fluff her puffy hair. “It’s good, right?” he murmurs. The girl nods. He hands her back her spoon, then picks up his own. “You get that half, and I’ll get this half.”

She is awestruck, but when he gestures for her to go ahead, all he can do is smile fondly as he watches her nibble away determinedly upon her corner of the bowl.

She is so small. The moment they had found another settlement outside of Mistral, he had taken to her a doctor; the woman had guessed that the little girl is probably seven, just as he had assumed. However, thanks to her injuries, the doctor had not known how much longer the child shall live if left in this condition.

He shakes his head, tossing the worry away. The child is here; she has a chance to survive, especially now that he has salves and medicine for her wounds. And if it becomes her time to die, then die, she shall, for there is no point fearing death. If he feared death, he would’ve never made the decision to run away, after all.

“My name is Roman- Roman Torchwick,” he says, taking a bite. _Oh, it’s grainy. That’s too bad. I’ll buy her better stuff next time._ “And you are?”

She blinks up at him, pausing in her voracious consumption, unsure of what to say.

He gestures for her to go ahead. “The silent treatment is great and all, kiddo, but I can’t call you ‘kiddo’ forever. What’s your name?”

The little girl opens her mouth, but only air passes through parted lips.

He pauses, cocking his head to the side, leaning elbows onto the table and watching her through long, dark lashes. _What is…_ “Tell me your name, sweetheart.”

She shakes her head, no sound leaving her throat.

Roman sighs, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms. “I’m not here to play games, kid. Name. Now.”

To his horror, she opens up her mouth again, trying to force sound out- it emerges from puffy lips as strangled wheezes, eventually leading to a painful coughing fit.

He gets up and slips into the booth beside her, rubbing her back as she coughs and coughs and coughs, her tiny fingers dropping the spoon in favour of clutching onto him just as desperately as she had held on throughout their entire escape from Mistral. She is helpless, weak, falling apart-

 _She’s mute,_ he realizes vaguely. _Holy shit- she’s mute._

When she finally is able to breathe once again, he whispers, “Nod or shake your head- can you talk?”

She shakes her head, embarrassment twisting her face, scrunching up delicate features pathetically.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Nod or shake- has anyone ever _given_ you a name?”

Her response is clear.

He stares at her for a moment thoughtfully, then leans over, grabbing a napkin from the table’s dispenser. Blotting her eyes and holding it to her face so she can blow her nose, his eyes run between her and the bowl sitting upon the table, her discarded spoon laying haphazardly across red plastic. Gingerly, he picks up his spoon which still lays against the side of the bowl and scoops out a small bite for the little girl, then holds it to her mouth. She eats without fuss, shivering as the chill sets into her bones. The sight of her trying so hard is adorable- he cannot wait to show her other things, to explore the world with her-

He pauses, taking that in. _I’m really going to keep this brat, aren’t I?_

She beams up at him, pink and white and brown staining her cheeks as she opens her mouth, waiting for more, fingers scrabbling upon the table as she tries to reach her abandoned spoon again. When he brings another spoonful of ice cream to her mouth, her smile is so clear and pure that he cannot breathe.

_Yes. Yes I will._

She shall be dead weight, and he knows it. But as he looks at the bruises still so evident upon her arms and neck and face, her hair shorn messily and her heart so plainly shattered upon her sleeve, he knows that he cannot turn her away, anyways.

“Your name is Neopolitan,” he says. “Neo. You're my little sidekick now, got it?”

The child stares blankly at him, utterly unsure of what that means.

He grins wryly, leaning in close to her. “You’re going to stay with me from now on. I’ll take care of you. Sound good, doll?”

She leans her head on his shoulder and opens her mouth expectantly.

He deadpans at her. “I’m sorry, what am I- a mama bird?”

But he feeds her anyways, and she smiles, those tiny fingers grabbing onto his, and they are content.


	3. Chapter 3

Vale is everything he could have ever wanted and more.

The tall buildings, the perfectly planned, grid-like streets, the lovely weather and friendly people and easy access to so many pathetically-easy targets-

His pockets are lined and his confidence grown with little to no effort. It is glorious, the way he can strut down the street at any time of day and find a way to fill his wallet up with more lien than he knows what to do with.

Neo certainly appreciates it. Based on her understanding of food, she has been eating naught but scraps and mold her entirely life. His main goal is to help those ribs fill out a little; he is sick of feeling naught but skin and bone hug him every time he tucks her into the little bed he has bought for her in their meager apartment. Seeing her reactions to different kinds of foods is simply the icing on the cake.

He grins, thinking of the night before. _I should bring home carrot cake. She might like that, since she loved that walnut cake yesterday._

Would she even care? He doesn’t know, but it certainly feels good to be able to walk into any store and _afford_ what is on the shelves, so he shall take what he can get.

When he is finally approached by local miscreants, it takes him a moment to collect himself, for he has been so focused upon Neo’s well-being that he has almost forgotten how to deal with more organized crime syndicates. The rust quickly flakes off, however, and he is not concerned whatsoever; in fact, he goads them, offering his services to local gang leaders with a knife ready to go behind his back. “You need something nicked, poached, killed, or erased? I’m your man,” he says with a flourish, giving a little bow to the two men staring down at him impassively. “Let me know what you need, and I’m sure we can find a…” His eyes roll up to look at them almost lasciviously. “A fair trade.”

That fair trade always includes proving his usefulness, building his connections, growing indispensable, then murdering his employers. He’s a great actor, though- they never see it coming, even as his reputation grows more and more bloodstained. Why they always think that they shall be different- that they shall conquer this wild man with orange hair and dark lashes and enough greed in his heart to fuel any endeavor- baffles him, but he never complains.

Rising up the ranks outside of the clutches of Mistrals gangs is easy after surviving all of these years.

He does not tell Neo about what he truly does. “I take on odd jobs,” he explains as he comes home, splattered in blood and grime, responding to her unspoken, yet terrified query. “It’s not bad, little doll. It’s not bad.”

He knows that she does not believe him. She has seen him slay countless Grimm during their escape from Anima, and she knows just how ruthless he can be with bandits and the like who try and interfere with his plans. Yet, she never brings it up or draws attention to it, for whenever he goes home, he brings her little trinkets and new sweets to try.

As this carries on, however, he realizes that he needs her to be able to communicate. He doesn’t have time to learn a sign language and teach her, too, but they need to be able to communicate through written language, at least. It’s the only way he can keep her safe- if she can read, if she can stay alert, if she can maintain her wits about her even if she does not have speech at her disposal.

So, the lessons begin. He shows her workbooks he has stolen from bookstores that shall help her learn to write, and he spends every night after cleaning up from his hunt of the day reading her stories, the little girl situated on his lap as he spins magical tales for her, whetting her imagination and appetite for more.

At first, this routine is for utility more than anything. “You know who succeeds in this world, Neo?” he asks one evening.

She shakes her head, then pauses- then, she points at Roman.

He throws his head back and laughs, fluffing one of her high pigtails teasingly. “ _Exactly_. But _why_ do I succeed?” When she cannot give him an answer, he simply taps a finger against his forehead. “It’s because of our brains, sweetheart. You don’t need to be the strongest. You don’t need to be the fastest.” He taps her nose, eliciting a silent giggle from the little girl as he murmurs, “You don’t need to be the loudest, either.” Straightening up authoritatively, he announces, “You need to be the smartest! And for that, you need to be able to read, darling.”

It begins as this- simply utilitarian. As he realizes that Neo loves stories of grand adventure and make-believe and magic, however, he realizes that there’s more to teaching than just learning.

She falls asleep in his lap almost every night. He doesn’t mind tucking her in, feeling her weight grow more and more as she begins to look like a real child at last and not an emaciated, forgotten husk.

All of this changes when he comes home one night to a ransacked apartment. His money is gone- all four locations in which he has hidden it away are empty, destroyed. He barely notices it, though, merely checking off items which are damaged upon a mental list while his brain works in overdrive, seeking out the one thing he cannot replace.

He cannot replace her. She is part of his life forever.

He finds Neo curled up behind the garbage can under the sink. She has stuffed a dirty dishrag into her mouth to stop the intruders from hearing even a single breath- it gets snagged on one of her teeth as Roman gently pulls her out from the tiny hiding spot, allowing her to crumble into his arms. Once her tears have abated, he steps carefully around broken glass and cabinets ripped off their hinges until he finds himself in her bedroom, squatting down onto the floor, opening up each of the picture books he has brought her over the past months.

It is a painstaking process, but he manages to get her to give him descriptions of the intruders. One has puffy hair, he realizes as she points to a picture of a man with unkempt curls on one page. Another has a wide, thin smile. They were all wearing black and grey. These details come one after another until he has painted an image of his next targets within his mind so clearly he can already smell their blood splatter upon the wall.

She realizes why he is asking. Her fear is evident. When he asks her, “Are you scared of me now? You should be,” however, she simply leans her ear against his chest and shakes her head. _It doesn’t matter,_ she seems to say. _I’m staying with you._

So, he brushes her teeth and packs up whatever they have left, taking her to a hotel. He shall find a new home that is safer for her. He shall never allow her to fear like this again.

When he finally takes her to the new, more secure home in which he shall keep her safe, she writes, “Thank you,” with wobbly fingers on the small whiteboard which he has bought her, the letters crooked and misshapen. He smiles and ruffles her hair, then shows her around these new lodgings. And that night, once she is tucked into her new pink and brown bed, he looks at that white board and sheds tears in the darkness of night, far from prying eyes who may judge him for his moment of weakness- who may try to use _her_ to reach his weakness.

He’ll keep her safe, no matter what.


	4. Chapter 4

“It’s your tenth birthday!” He pulls the tab on the party popper, mercilessly blowing confetti into her face. “Congratulations, Neo!”

She shakes her head and winces at the loudness of the party toy, brushing confetti out of her hair with a tired, yet loving pout before she writes on her whiteboard, “But you don’t know for sure.”

He raises a brow. “I know the day I _found_ you, and that’s _basically_ when your _best_ life began, right?”

She snorts, shaking her head ruefully, but the smile on her lips is as brilliant as ever. “Okay,” she writes.

He straddles his chair as he looks at her dig into the cake he has brought for her- strawberry shortcake with chocolate mousse, the colours matching her eyes and hair, as always. “So, you never told me what you want, kiddo. What’s the plan? What do you want ol’ Roman to get you on your special day?”

She takes a moment to think long and hard. Roman smiles, leaning his arms on the back of the chair, content with using the time to just look at her. Three years ago, he had picked up a meager little thing; the malnutrition of her earlier years has kept her small and contained, but the glow of her skin now is vibrant, her eyes sharp and clear. She is growing up to be a pretty little woman who is intelligent and capable, and he cannot be prouder.

Yet, it isn’t a good idea to continue to raise her, and he knows it. She has been attacked more times that he can count in an attempt to topple him from power within Vale’s underworld. He has saved her every time, but realistically, it would be smarter to simply let her go-

 _No._ He has one joy in life aside from his ‘career’, and that is Neo, and he shall never give that up.

Finally, it seems like she has made up her mind. He perks up, awaiting her response eagerly. The girl stands and walks over to stand in front of him, balling up her fists and raising them as if to fight.

Roman blinks at her once, twice, thrice. “…sweetheart, you’re going to lose if you think you can fight me-“

And then, he understands.

“No, Neo. I’m not going to teach you.”

Instantly, her face grows angry, bitter. _Why?_ she cries with her eyes, shoulders hunching over in frustration. _Why not?_

“I need to keep you away from-“

Frantically, she runs over to her whiteboard and begins to scribble. Her writing has always been far too perfect, too pristine, to have learned from him; in immaculate print, she says, “I want to help you.”

He sighs, leaning his forehead against his arms. “Neo,” he says wearily, “you’re safe. Okay? None of this ‘I want to help’ nonsense. Just focus on being a brat, and-“ He pauses as she begins to scrawl furiously again. He adds, “Anyways, you know what I do for a living. You also know that I’m _fine_. I don’t need a little girl to-“

She raises her whiteboard, the words chilling him to the bone. “I’m going to die if I don’t know how to fight.”

Brothers, how his heart longs to pretend she speaks in hyperboles, in the world of exaggeration. It is not, however- it is anything but, and he cannot deny the truth in her words. She is absolutely correct. While he has always been able to keep her safe, what will happen in the future if she’s confronted with his enemies? With Grimm? With the police?

She’s tied too deep now to ever be extricated from his reputation, after all.

_Hell, Neo, you’ve been waiting for this one, huh?_

So, he stands. There is no point in trying to convince her otherwise- when she gets an idea in her mind, she sees it through to the end, whether he wants her to or not. It’s an admirable stubbornness, but it is also ugly- only ever rearing its head when she wants to eat certain things on their cheat days, or if he breaks a promise due to plans going awry.

Or, if she can help him.

She will never betray him. _If she grows strong…_ His mind immediately begins to bounce around, imagining her form- a little taller, a little stronger, a little older- accompanying him on his raids. _If we learn what her Semblance is and manage to build her a reputation as well…_

She could become indomitable.

He steps away from the chair, waving towards her. “Alright, Neo. Let’s play. Time for our new classes to start.”

Rose and chocolate coloured eyes flash, a grin that mirrors his own wicked glee smiling back at him. For a moment, he is struck- she is truly serious about this.

_Let’s play, Neo. Let’s see how strong you can become._

Something in his heart tells him that she will surpass him in an instant. Unlike anyone else he meets in his normal line of work, that image does not worry him; all he does is grin and wave her closer, for he now feels the same anticipation for their lessons which he can see taking over her spirit.

She is going to grow stronger than him, and he _cannot wait._


	5. Chapter 5

He can remember the day Neo bests him in battle perfectly.

She is twelve years old. Her body remains petite, even as she fills out and begins to hit that age where she is too thin and too gangly to really make any kind of sense; he teases her about it constantly, always pulling her ears gently and mussing her hair when she tries to do it up nicely. Still, when she asks him for makeup, he buys her the nicest palettes and tools he can find, setting up a veritable vanity in her small bedroom so that she can practice to her hearts content.

The evidence of her efforts- a crisp wing of eyeliner framing her brown eye, a wobbly attempt around her pink iris- is smudged with sweat as she dodges his blows one after another, weaving around and below his fists with far too much ease to have only begun a few years ago. He grins as he steadies himself, for he has taught her just like he himself had learned: without remorse.

And she has grown strong for it.

So, when she manages to hook her frail ankle around the back of his knee and knock him off-balance, kicking with all her strength to quickly destroy his kneecaps, he feels no anger accompanying the intense pain caused by her assault. His Aura flickers to life, but pride is the only thing which wells up in his heart as she pants and gasps for air, hair flying everywhere, no semblance of calm left upon her visage.

Once his kneecaps are healed thanks to his Aura, he holds out his arms. “Perfect, darling.”

Her determination slips away, her smile growing sweet and exuberant as she bounces into his arms, absolutely overjoyed. He laughs as she collapses on top of him, patting her back and crying, “You even took out the king of the underground, kiddo. You’re a _beast._ ”

Jokingly, she bares her canines towards him. He feigns mock-fear and collapses into another round of laughter, watching her happily. _She’s really grown,_ he thinks as she totters up to her feet. “Help an old man up,” he commands.

She rolls her eyes, but helps him up anyways. Before she can step away, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and drags her towards the front door. “Time to go on an adventure to celebrate!” he says, tossing her jacket at her. “C’mon.”

She pouts, pointing at her messy makeup. He blows a raspberry at her. “Beautiful.” She sighs, but obeys, allowing the two of them to make their way out of their cozy penthouse suite.

After arriving at their destination and ordering and paying, he finally hands her the prize of the day- a bowl of ice cream. Without restraint, he stabs into her ice cream with an extra spoon and steals a bite, much to her chagrin. “I thought you were stronger and faster than me?” he teases.

She rolls her eyes, but does not hesitate to lean on his shoulder as she digs into her little prize. He smiles, patting her head and looking up into the evening sky, the colours blending up above in the cosmos just like the colours swirling together within Neo’s bowl.

It is an idle phrase which flies out of his mouth- just a fleeting fancy, a thought come to life with little real meaning behind it. He only says it because he sees their reflection in the shop window, and they look… almost _normal,_ when they’re together.

They’re certainly happy. He has never felt more at ease.

“Neopolitan Torchwick, finally able to outsmart me,” he murmurs under his breath.

Her movements halt. He glances over to her, only to freeze as he finds big eyes staring up at him through rapidly-growing tears, shock and amazement welling up with every heartbeat. “Neo, what’s wrong?” he asks, panic fluttering in his chest for a moment.

The young girl takes a moment to steady herself, wiping her eyes, smudging her messy eyeliner further. Then, she sniffles, taking his Scroll from his pocket. He allows the movement without a word, watching as she unlocks it and opens up the notepad.

“Neopolitan Torchwick?” she writes.

His breathes catches in his throat. He coughs to clear it away, grinning as he offers, “I mean- that’s not something we need to do right away, and it’s not like you _need_ to do it ever, but-“

“Love you, Roman.”

They do not speak for the trip back home. No words are needed.

He does not let go of her hand, though. Whether she is a skilled fighter or not, he shall never let her go on her own.


	6. Chapter 6

The city of Vale is full of simpering idiots who love clichés and holidays too much. He hates seeing just how festive everything becomes every few months; it is almost as if the people of Sanus have nothing better to do than find new reasons to celebrate every inane thing. Whenever the colour schemes of local businesses shift for what feels like the millionth time, Roman can only groan and sigh, for he is growing weary of shooting through seasonal décor in every single robbery he orchestrates. After all, for him, there is really only one day he ever bothers to celebrate- Neo’s makeshift birthday.

That is, until Neo’s fourteenth year upon Remnant. He has begun to bring her on small jobs, allowing her to learn pickpocketing and lockpicking and safecracking whenever she can; and, as thanks, he has also begun to give her a little bit of the cut from their prizes.

“You contributed- you get to keep loot,” he says, handing her a small stack of lien after her first real task goes off without a hitch.

Her eyes sparkle as if already visualizing what she shall purchase. He latches onto that instantly, ready to grill her for a response; however, she runs away and seals her lips tight, refusing to share what exactly she shall do with this tiny fortune she has finally earned.

The answer isn’t kept a secret for long, though. He wakes up one bleary Sunday morning to breakfast in bed and a bowler hat which fits him perfectly; a small card is handed over along with the hat, with the words, “Happy Father’s Day” emblazoned across the front of it.

She writes little within the card. “Thanks for everything. –Neo”

It is enough, however. So, Roman decides that perhaps two days are worth celebrating from then on. Two days in the year are not too bad; one day, he’ll pamper her, and the other day, she’ll pamper him. It’s a guilty pleasure, but as he puts the card away with his stash of extra passports and ID cards, he knows that he shall never forget this day.

 _Father’s Day._ The mere words makes his chest ache terribly, and yet, he doesn’t mind it.

He smiles. Maybe the people of Vale are onto something, after all.


	7. Chapter 7

He looks between her sunburnt cheeks and the bottle of aloe in his hands, then lets out a long, weary sigh. “Y’know what? Screw this. Let’s do this differently.”

She does not know what he means, that much is clear. However, when he unfurls a dainty lace parasol for her two days later which he has nicked from a lovely boutique downtown, her eyes light up in understanding. He hands it to her and comments, “Time to learn to spar with this, because I’m sick of training hand-to-hand with you.”

She grabs onto the handle and unfurls it, spinning delightedly. The pale pink lace and mahogany trim complement her hair perfectly, silky strands bouncing in time with tiny tassels hanging off the edges. Her expression grows to be absolutely enamored as she twirls the umbrella, silent giggles spilling from breathless lips as she finally plops the stem onto her shoulder, posing confidently.

He applauds, a cheesy grin on his face that prompts her to poke him in the stomach. She fumbles with closing it for a few moments, practicing the motion when she finally understands the mechanism; her eyes rove over the dainty piece excitedly, working out its moving parts within moments.

“You like it, huh, Neo?” Roman murmurs, crossing his arms.

She nods, pointing at him with the parasol. She gestures to him, her eyes spelling the words clear as day. “Grab your cane! Let’s practice!”

He shakes his head, for he had one other thing he must hand off to her. They’ve outgrown whiteboard markers, after all. She’s a teenager now. So, he pulls his second gift out of his pocket and says, “Pose with the parasol, sweetie.”

She does so playfully, only realizing too late that he is lifting up a different Scroll than his own to snap the photo. When she does understand, however, she bounds up to him, grabbing for the device he holds above his head. “Neo,” he laughs, “what’s the magic word?”

She rolls her eyes and steps on his toes, the action so randomly violent that he drops his arms. She easily grabs the device from his hands, her fingers flying across the keys. “Is this mine?” she types for him.

He straightens up her hair, separating pink and brown tenderly. “Yup. On missions, we’ll use these now.”

The words are quiet, simple. She understands what they mean- he is going to begin trusting her to go alone for tasks. He is trusting her to be one of his followers.

She is ready.

Her lip wobbles, and she clutches the Scroll and parasol to her chest. He does not give her time to be emotional, however; they have training to complete if she is going to be able to use her strength and speed to its full potential on her own, now that she has a weapon.

He cannot wait to help her modify that parasol until it is just as deadly as she is.

Before he can retrieve his cane, however, she grabs his arm and pulls him towards her. “Neo, what-“

Then, the camera of her new Scroll is above his face, and the teen begins snapping photographs of the two of them. At first, he resists- having photographed evidence like this of their association is not a good idea in any way, shape or form- but as she takes more and more, he finds that he does not have the heart to say no, for she looks _so happy_ to be here like this, hanging off his arm, a parasol held in the arm looped through his as she takes photographs.

His heart twinges in pain. She is just a girl.

 _…she’s_ my _girl, though._ He swallows down the regret that threatens to well up. He has done a lot of bad things in his life; he shall never allow himself to associate anything related to Neo- even if it is his own decision to bring her into his world of shadow- with regret.


	8. Chapter 8

“Neo?”

She does not respond.

His heart begins to pound in his chest. It is too dark, the mission has gone too sour- this isn’t time for any bullshit and they need to get out _immediately_ , so _what is she-_

He reaches out a hand to touch her shoulder where she has been standing guard on their emergency escape route. “Neo,” he hisses, “we have to go-“

The moment his hand comes into contact with her, she seems to simply… shatter, glass shards falling soundlessly to the ground, her entire image disappearing into dust as if she had never been there to begin with.

He almost screams, if it were not for the parasol handle which hooks around his neck and forcibly drags him down, choking out his cry with its strength. He splutters and turns to look at his assailant, eyes wide and heart racing, only to find two pink eyes staring at him. He blinks. “…Neo?”

The grin she gives him answers his questions effortlessly. _My gods, she’s figured out her Semblance._

Once they have managed to fully extract themselves from the warehouse robbery gone awry, he demands that she explain the extent of her powers. As they make it back to their home, the girl merely responds by glowing a myriad of colours, all matching her natural hair colours, before her appearance seems to morph, shift, change.

Suddenly, he is looking at a carbon copy of himself.

He laughs, removing his now-trademark bowler hat and pushing orange strands out of his face as understanding slowly begins to dawn over him. “Neo, you _demon,”_ he cackles, replacing the hat and reaching out to the image. The illusion crumbles the moment he taps this depiction of himself, leaving behind Neo’s almost feral grin. “You realize what we can do with this, right?”

She frowns, pouts, concentrates; then, she opens her eyes wide. Her eyes are now both brown.

He laughs long and loud, throwing his head back and arms out to the side. “Neo, my girl, we are going to _take over the world!_ ” he calls, rushing into the open air of their balcony. “You and I are the perfect team!” When he turns around, however, he finds a Scroll waiting for him, the screen reading Neo’s thoughts.

“I told you I’m gonna be useful to you.”

He rolls his eyes and flicks her forehead gently. Even that tiny motion is enough to shatter the illusion, her heterochromia growing visible again. “Okay, so we’re going to start practicing how to maintain your Semblance even with a few hits, okay?” he says sternly.

She nods, but continues pointing to the words on the screen.

He frowns. “Yeah, Neo. You already are- you’re part of the team,” he says, patting her hair.

“No,” she types, fingers flying across the screen as she leans back against the balcony door. “My place is HERE.”

And she moves to stand right beside him.

He presses his lips together and flicks her forehead yet again, even harder this time- she pouts and stamps her foot, annoyed, for this time there is no illusion to dispel. However, as he steps past her, he makes a beeline for his own bedroom, for the tears which threaten to stuff up his face and- dare he say it, spill onto his cheeks- are too cloying to bear.

She’s right, after all. Her place will always be by his side. She’s the best ally he could have ever asked for, with all her youth and energy and strength. They could truly take over the world one day, especially if they are able to use her strength.

_To think, I picked her up as a joke almost what, eight years ago now?_

He is grateful for every day with her. He sniffles, wipes his eyes, slaps his cheeks to regain some colour, then grabs his cane on his way back out the door. “Neo, use your Semblance so I can kick your ass to next Tuesday!” he calls into the dark hallway. “We’ve gotta get your disguises in top form!”

And she comes to his beckoning call, parasol in hand, ready to fight. She really is his girl.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that inspired this entire fic.

This is not what he wanted. He has never wanted to be a part of any of this. Yes, he is powerful in Vale, but he is still just a _human._

The freak of nature standing before him is anything but, he decides, despite her outwardly innocence. Junior, his henchman, has already been knocked out cold; it leaves him vulnerable, forced to watch this thin, willowy women hold up her palm as if she is making airs to a more forgiving audience.

She does not pretend here, though. She opens her palm, and from within the depths of her soul, a flame sparks upon her fingers, growing into a veritable fire which could burn him to ashes should he make the wrong move. “My name is Cinder Fall,” she says, her eyes flashing with orange-red flames which begin to outline her eyes, a monstrous effect that does nothing more than drive home the fact that _Roman needs to run._

The door is closed. There is no way to escape. So, he does what he does best, what has kept him alive from the slums of Mistral to here at the top of the food chain in Vale- he lies.

Crawling back to his feet, he straightens out his hat and murmurs, “Alright, fire-face. Cool trick. What’re your terms?”

“Oh,” the woman titters, brushing her long hair over her shoulder as the very walls of the warehouse begins to tremble, his ears popping with the sheer pressure caused by her Aura- her _magic-_ filling the room. “I can assure you, this is _not_ a trick.”

He swallows thickly. “Doesn’t answer the question, doll.”

She rolls glowing golden-amber eyes at him, her smile wicked and lopsided and sinister, every bit as cruel as Roman knows himself to be. When accompanied by fire, however, he finds nothing in common with that grin. He is a crook, and so are his men. _She_ is not natural.

He needs to leave. She is between him and the exits.

Finally, Cinder begins her explanation. “My master has a proposition for you, Roman Torchwick. You’ve spent the last few years building an influence in Vale and beyond; your efforts are remarkable and appreciated.” Her compliments roll off of him, slimy and cloying. He shivers as she continues, “We would like to use your services- of course, we will give you something in return for your aid.”

“I highly doubt,” Roman says carefully, shifting his hands into his pockets to hide how they tremble as he walks towards the door as casually as he can, “that you have anything that could be enticing enough for me to want to join you.”

“We’ll keep you alive.”

“I’m plenty good at that myself, so no thanks.”

“Even when the world ends soon?”

 _What is she talking about?_ “That’s quite an ego you’ve got there, Miss Fall. Wouldn’t want you to be boastful, though.”

To his absolute horror, Cinder waves over one of her own followers, the young woman having been previously standing hidden in shadow. The dark-skinned woman looks as green as her hair, clearly sickened by whatever is in the bag she has been holding this entire time. Roman’s hands pull out of his pockets to rest firmly upon his cane, ready to raise it up and begin his attack.

He does not know what is in the bag, but he will not let them take him down without a fight, after all.

That will to defend himself dies in a heartbeat, however, as the bag is opened and out crawls a tentacle-covered, slimy creature of Grimm. “Why the _hell_ do you have that _monster-“_ he cries, stepping back instinctively. “How- just, _why-_ “

But the creature’s spherical body begins to glow, and suddenly, he sees a pale, tight face lined with purple veins and the darkest eyes he has ever seen staring through him, almost as if the creature is a seeing stone, a portal- a CCTS connection he has never wanted to establish.

The person staring back at him is absolutely _terrifying_.

“This is my master,” Cinder coos, clearly unaffected by the fact that she has carried Grimm nonchalantly into the room. “Salem is her name, and she shall liberate this world from its shackles- but for that, we need _you,_ and your connections.”

 _As if I’m going to get involved in any of this._ He takes one step towards the exit; however, Cinder’s other follower steps into the light, his smile sadistic in the moonlight shining in through the high windows. Roman sighs, for this young man had easily dispatched all of Junior’s men singlehandedly; there is no point even pretending like he has a chance to escape.

“There’s nothing you could give me,” he insists, keeping his voice light and playful. They cannot know his fear. They cannot know his weakness.

“Really?” She chuckles knowingly, walking towards him. Extending her hand down by her side, he shivers as he watches stone seemingly form out of thin air, melding into a molten blade with a single flick of her wrist. “I’m sure we could find _something-“_

“You can’t,” he insists. “I’m happy and I want nothing to do with-“

“Don’t you want to hear that girl’s voice one day?”

Roman freezes, stock-still. “…what?” he breathes.

Cinder shrugs, gesturing towards the Grimm which floats unnaturally off the ground, the orb at its core still showing the grotesque visage of Cinder’s master. “Magic is real, Roman Torchwick. We have far more power than you could ever imagine. We control the Grimm, after all. With our strength, my master could heal her, if you performed well enough.”

Nausea washes over him, robbing him of the air in his lungs. This isn’t- she isn’t his weakness, she’s his _strength,_ so why-

Why are they able to use Neo as his singular weakness?

His traitorous mind whispers, “She would sound so sweet.”

His little girl’s voice- the child he has raised, the child he has _loved_ as his own-

 _I could hear her_ speak _._

After a long moment, he nods, keeping his back facing Cinder and her followers. He does not need to bother looking at her, for her smile is clear in her voice as it booms through the warehouse. “We’ll contact you when the time is right, Roman Torchwick. Be ready. You’ve made the right decision.” Her voice drops to a sickening whisper as she adds, “You’ll get to hear that stray you’ve raised all this time thank you with her own voice soon enough. Won’t that be lovely?”

He does not respond.

It is only when the clicking of her heels has finally died down that he allows himself to crumble, burying his face in his bowler hat without restraint as tears pour down his cheeks. He could hear Neo’s voice-

What has he agreed to do?

He could speak to her-

Just what plan has he joined?

He could hear her _laugh aloud-_

To whom has he just sworn his fealty?

_I won’t make it out alive, will I?_

…he just prays that he can hear Neo speak before the end, if this- whatever _this_ is- is what life has become.


	10. Chapter 10

“Was suplexing him really necessary, sweetheart?”

She shrugs, typing on her Scroll and showing him the screen. “He called me short,” she justifies firmly.

“Noted. He deserves it, then,” Roman replies, glaring at Cinder’s henchman, the young Mercury Black groaning in pain from where Neo had tossed him unceremoniously. Roman does not move to help the young man; if he had mocked Neo, then he deserves far more than simply being thrown.

His fingers itch against the trigger of his cane. He stays his hand. He cannot afford to earn Cinder’s ire.

Their duties for the day are done, however, and it is time to go home. There is only so much his pacing and yelling within their central warehouse can accomplish, after all, and his men already have their orders to finish unloading all of the stolen Dust which Cinder has tasked him with collecting.

Neo follows him without complaint, but the moment they are out of Cinder’s sights and back on the street, her forehead creases, fingers flying across the screen of her Scroll. “We’ve been helping them prepare for over a year now!” she says, her expression pleading and disconcerted. “Why?”

He shakes his head, tucking a hand into his pocket as they slip into the back alleys that shall lead them home away from security cameras. He understands why she is terrified; together, they saw the full extent of Cinder’s powers as the Fall Maiden that day, and Roman has never been further in over his head. Cinder Fall is a complete monster, her ability to wield golden magic and flame completely separate from her Semblance’s control over heating and reforming objections to her whims. Watching her set fire to an entire Faunus camp that morning had been gut-turning, even after everything Roman has ever done.

Neo’s fear is completely natural. So, he announces, “We’re doing what we need to.”

She does not even need to type for him to understand. They have been together for too long now; miscommunication is a thing of the far-off past. “What are you _talking_ about?” her eyes scream at him, accusing, fearful. “What are we trying to accomplish?!”

He pauses underneath a dim light situated at the top of one of the buildings surrounding them. In the flickering yellow sheen, he can see the streaks of white she has layered into her hair for cosmetic reasons using her Semblance. He can see the glitter upon her lids which he knows she adds painstakingly every morning, as much as he teases her about it. He can see every frill and bow on her outfit, one which she has halfway sewn herself in order to be able to wear fabric that is both stylish and resistant to Dust and weapons.

She still barely goes up to his armpit. She shall forever be his tiny little girl.

And he _wants to hear her voice._

…or, if nothing else, he wants to be able to protect her, even just a little, as Salem and her monsters like Cinder bring the world crashing down around them.

He smiles, but there is no lie in his eyes, no persona to play. He simply reaches out and strokes her hair, pushing it tenderly out of her face, careful to not disrupt the white streaks precariously laced through pink strands with her Aura. “You’re good at disguises now,” he breathes.

She frowns, but waits patiently for him to continue.

“You told me you’d learn to use them so you could be useful for me.”

She sucks in a breath, then nods, worry and anxiety creeping into her expression.

Cupping her cheek with one hand, he strokes the skin lightly, careful to not disturb her powder. “I’ve never wanted to accomplish a goal more in my life. So, I’m working with them,” he says simply.

The doubt in her eyes stings him far more than any of Cinder’s magic ever could. Still, she nods, taking in a deep breath, pulling out her Scroll, and typing her response. “Okay,” she writes. “I’m with you.”

He does not deserve her, he thinks. “I know you are, Neo,” he whispers. “I know you are.”

Faintly, he wonders if her life would’ve been better if he had left her in that alleyway a decade before. He knows it isn’t true. That thought still haunts him all the way home.


	11. Chapter 11

He has seen her use her Semblance a thousand times before, and yet, watching her solidify her Aura into a physical illusion over her own form is still utterly fascinating to him. Her hair darkens and splits into pigtails before his very eyes, her clothes shifting into a dark, neat uniform, utterly different from her usual getup of pastel pinks and creams and browns. “You ready?” he asks.

She nods, taking in a deep breath before pasting on a demure smile. She looks every bit like the student from Haven Academy she is pretending to be in order to infiltrate Beacon Academy.

He fixes up her bangs lightly. “Look, Neo,” he mutters, “you’re going to be in the same school as Red and the brats, okay?” At her glower at the mere mention of the Beacon students who have thrown wrench after wrench into their plans, he sighs. “No, you _can’t_ kill them. Don’t draw any suspicion towards yourself, got it?”

Her annoyance is clear as day, but he does not allow her to continue with her silent judgement. “Look. You need to prep your weapon- is Hush ready?” She points to the parasol-turned-sword, raising a brow. “Okay. Then no matter what happens, you’ve got to stay under the radar until it’s time.”

“I can’t even kill Blondie?” Neo types on her Scroll.

He rolls his eyes. “No, Neo, apparently Blondie is Red’s big sis, and I’ve got to watch her die _myself._ Anyways, Blondie’s going to be a big player in this garbage scheme of theirs, so she’s _especially_ off-limits!”

She sighs, but her frustration quickly dissipates as she lifts up her Scroll, waving him closer. He begrudgingly complies, squatting so that she can take as many photographs of them together on her Scroll as she likes. She has taken to doing this often- whenever she has a new disguise or new modification perfected, she always has to commemorate it with a picture of the two of them.

He smiles at the camera, hiding his fatigue and worry the moment the camera light flicks on, but her joy at being able to press her cheek against his and take a picture is always enough to lighten the load upon his heart. He chuckles, turning to look at her as she continues to pose cutely for the camera. “You ready to take the world by storm, Neo?”

She pauses for a moment to shoot him a wink. “Of course,” she mouths.

For a long moment, he stares at her. It is almost time for her to join Cinder and her followers at Beacon Academy’s intake process; it shall be quite a while until they see each other again. Before he can stop himself, he murmurs, “Drop the illusion for just a second, okay?”

Instantly, she stiffens, alarm crossing her face. Still, she does not hesitate to comply; she allows her Aura to slough off, shattering midair silently like a mirror fragmenting into infinitesimal pieces, leaving Neo in all her usual glory watching him apprehensively. “What’s wrong?” she types, laying a hand on his forehead to check his temperature.

His heart seizes as he looks at this tiny creature. _I’m doing all this for you,_ he says silently, brushing her thick bangs out of her eyes. This teenager- this young woman, almost an _adult-_ is such a far cry from the tiny, bedraggled creature he had rescued from the slums. Looking at the love and tenderness in her eyes now, however, he knows that he does not regret the last eleven years with her by his side.

Silently, he cups her face. _Soon,_ he thinks, _soon I’ll hear your voice._ The idea of getting to actually listen to her speak, to no longer have to use the Scroll to understand her when she is out of his sight, of hearing her call out for him when coffee is ready or when she wants to complain about something- what will make her voice speed up? Slow down? What will make her voice rise, fall, hitch, cry?

What will she sound like when she _smiles?_

He knows she understands that he’s not fighting on Salem’s side because he believes in her cause. They both know this is just for survival- that Salem is a monster, and they are simply trying to make it out alive, together. They’re in it too deep to flee now.

But if they do survive this, then he shall hear Neo’s voice.

… _I wonder what she’ll call me._

His followers tend to call him ‘Boss’. Cinder calls him Roman, her followers calls him Torchwick.

…would Neo ever call him ‘Dad’?

He is not a sentimental man, he thinks. It does not prevent him from leaning forward and placing a kiss upon Neo’s brow, grin growing feral and wicked as he murmurs, “Alright, sweetheart. You’d better give ‘em hell.”

And she smiles back, just as devilish and dangerous as he as she slips into her disguise once more; and they are united, standing side by side no matter how far apart they may be. She shall always stand by his side. She is his little girl, after all- the space at his side shall always be reserved solely for her.

As he looks into those beautiful brown and rose eyes for one last moment before her disguise settles back into place, he realizes that he does not regret a single thing in his life. He is Roman Torchwick; he rules Vale’s underworld; and his life truly began when he picked up a piss-soaked little girl in a back alley in Mistral, as weird as it may be.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

**_-fin-_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Other RWBY series:_  
>  Here are my [FG works!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898392)
> 
> If you want to see more of Qrow in canon, check out my [Qrow Branwen-Centric Fic series!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448095)
> 
> Here are [AUs both set in canon and out](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690948) for RWBY. 
> 
> If you want to stay completely within RWBY's canon, here is [ another series of completely canon-compliant fics for you.](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815229)
> 
> If you're looking for a long series in canon and like Team JNPR, here's a series that's a [rewrite of Vol. 1-6 through Pyrrha and Nora's eyes!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448071)
> 
> If you’re a fan of podfics, find all my [podficced works!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914916)
> 
> And of course, [follow me on Tumblr](https://faultyparagonfiction.tumblr.com/) for art/updates/podfics :)
> 
> Cheers for reading, y'all! See you in my other fics, and let me know what you thought of this fic!

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you think!


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